


Toothed-Bird Grin

by Noblebutch (kamrynwhowanders)



Series: Beeth Universe [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Monsterfucking, Other, Vaginal Fingering, Xenophilia, daemon as in old-timey demon not HDM, i would go so far as to say EXTREMELY enthusiastic consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23956309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamrynwhowanders/pseuds/Noblebutch
Summary: in which proper young lady Faith Townsend is SCANDALOUSLY SEDUCED at a SOIREE by a SCURRILOUS SUCCUBUS (or perhaps INCUBUS) of INDETERMINATE GENDER and INHUMAN FORM, and in the process, winds up throwing her maidenly virtue to the wind and having an excellent and thoroughly educational evening.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Non-Human Character(s)
Series: Beeth Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748455
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Toothed-Bird Grin

**Author's Note:**

> so this was originally written on a dare because my group chat was discussing this horrible horrible picture of a bird someone had photoshopped to have teeth and we dubbed it "beeth" and then later on I was whining about wanting to write a sexy story and not knowing what to write and someone said "write about beeth" and I said "challenge accepted" and wrote The Beeth Fic.
> 
> and they all promptly said "noble how could u do this to us. how could u make this hot. you've ruined us noble."
> 
> and i said, "you're welcome."

At first, Faith thinks it’s a mask.

Some cunning contraption of carved wood and gears and levers, made to clatter the unsettling teeth in its bird beak whenever its wearer is asked a question. It is a masquerade dance, after all, and no one else seems concerned. The longer she looks, however, the realer it seems. There are no seams for her to find, no gears for her to catch glimpses of in the back of the opened beak. The feathers framing its face ruffle and move with life. And its eyes. Dark hollows, bottomless. Those cannot possibly be glass, can they?

“Grace,” Faith says, and touches her sister’s arm, trying to gesture subtly at the bird-masked person. “Do you see that?”

Grace is not paying attention, her eyes fixed firmly on a tall woman wearing a flat snake’s mask and rather scandalously short sleeves that bare her defined arms. A blush is rising on Grace’s throat, visible even under her cheerily painted rabbit mask.

“Grace,” Faith says, exasperated. Grace starts, and reluctantly looks away from the woman. 

“Do you need something?”

“That…” Faith hesitates. Man seems oddly inaccurate. “Person in the bird mask. The one with the teeth. Can you see how they’re making the beak move? I can’t see any gears.”

Grace looks in the direction of Faith’s pointing finger for a moment, but is clearly uninterested. “Why would I know? They’re the one you should ask. I’m going to go and see if I can get a dance.”

Grace winds her way off into the crowd, skirts swirling as she moves between the other masked dancers. 

The candles and chandeliers lighting the hall make the crowd a dim and surreal place of animal faces and fancy dress, warm light glinting off the sweat on collarbones, the metal of jewelry, the porcelain and bone and polished wood of masks. Two violinists and a piano player play old, familiar tunes for dancing, echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling of the ballroom. It feels like a dream, and that feeling only intensifies when she loses sight of Grace between one breath and the next, and she is alone in the thick of it all. 

Faith hears the click and clatter of the toothed bird’s beak moving, distant under the music and murmur of conversation, and orients herself toward that. It seems strangely, vitally important that she discover the workings of the mask. If only she can know it to be a clever work of art with a breathing person underneath, then this strange half-nightmare of a dream will break, and she will be back in the ballroom of some person Grace knows better than Faith does, will be in a room with many strangers and friends and acquaintances who are all just here to have a good time in beautiful clothes. 

The toothed bird faces away from her as Faith weaves through the crowd, the press and chatter of the crowd almost suffocating. Faith stumbles, tripping over the train of a skirt and tottering into someone who startles and turns away. When she’s finished stammering her apologies she looks around for the toothed bird, and finds them nowhere to be seen. She stands on tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of the crowd around her, and regrets being as small as she is. Faith turns, slowly, scanning the room, and can see no trace of the pale feathers, the bone-tinted beak. 

“Are you well, my lady?” 

The question, soft and rough and not clearly attributable to either man or woman, is accompanied by the now-familiar clack of bone, and Faith spins around so fast she almost trips over her own skirt. There stands the person in the toothed-bird mask, and Faith cannot find the words to speak, everything tangling up in her throat as a mass of confusion and polite introductions and questions and compliments all battling for precedence. Instead she stands in silence, staring like a gawking fool. 

The person in the toothed-bird mask is tall, towering over her. They must be some respectable portion over six feet tall, clad all in a black tailcoat, a stretch of white trousers between the coat and the tall, shining black boots. All under a soft-looking brown cloak. They appear quite thin, sharp-edged and elegant, and though none of their face shows under the elaborate toothed-bird mask, no hair under the jauntily placed black tophat, Faith cannot help but feel that they are handsome.

“My lady?” prompts the toothed bird, and Faith flushes, dipping into a polite curtsy. 

“My apologies, I was… lost in thought. My name is Faith, and I was, ah. Just coming over to compliment you on your mask.”

“My mask,” says the toothed bird, with a certain amused tilt to the words that makes Faith flush. Do they think that she is here because she thought them so handsome? 

“It’s beautiful,” she says, defiantly, though she is uncertain that beautiful is the right word for it. More… well-crafted. Detailed. There is a certain beauty to it, but it is deeply unsettling to look at directly, to see it grafted onto a human form. This is not a thing that is meant to exist, and she finds herself wishing it was of shoddier craftsmanship. 

“Thank you.” The toothed bird laughs, low and hoarse and whispering, half a caw from their parted beak. “Your name is Faith? A good name. Hmm. You may call me Tenebrous for now, if you like.” They bend neatly at the waist, taking her hand in their gloved one. Their fingers are long, oddly cool under the gloves, and it should be ridiculous when they press her hand to the top of their beak. Instead, though, Faith finds herself blushing.

“Tenebrous,” she says, to confirm it to herself, and hesitates, eyes searching the edges of their mask to find some glimpse of human skin. There is not even a gap at the collar, their throat covered by feathers. “May I ask you something, Tenebrous?”

“Of course,” Tenebrous says. “If I may ask you something also.”

Faith hesitates, gathering her thoughts, trying to figure out how to ask, what to say.

“Your mask,” she says. “The toothed bird. How… where did you get it?”

Tenebrous hums a laugh, beak chattering, and their feathers fluff around their throat, ruffling in a way that seems alarmingly real. Faith can’t imagine how they’ve rigged that, scrutinizes the feathery arch of their throat for some sort of device to make the feathers move. Tenebrous tips their head to show more of their neck, and Faith’s eyes jump guiltily up to the dark, empty hollows of their eyes. “I made it myself.”

Faith looks at them with a new respect, inspecting the realism of their mask. “It is very well done indeed. You must be very skilled.”

“I am,” Tenebrous agrees, with neither humility nor arrogance. 

“What gave you the idea for this? The beak with the teeth and the feathers. It’s so elaborate - it covers your face entirely, and it has so many moving parts. It must have taken a long time, so. Why?”

“First, my question, I think,” Tenebrous says, and Faith starts, blushing. 

“Oh! Of course. Ask whatever you like.”

“Will you dance with me, my lady?”

Faith blinks at them, caught off guard, and then has to look away, flustered. “Of course,” she says, and feels her heart speed up with excitement. She’s always liked to dance, and never been the sort of person who was asked. It’s flattering, at least, and really rather exciting, if she's honest. And... Tenebrous is charming. “I would love to.”

They offer their gloved hand, and she takes it, their other hand settling at her waist. She allows herself to be drawn, ever-so-gently, into the sweep and the spin of the dance, feels herself hot and flushed in Tenebrous’ arms. The texture of their flesh is strange, under their clothes. Padded, almost, like all of their clothing is packed with down. But they are very warm, and there is an undeniable, almost effortless strength to their movements. Faith blushes as Tenebrous spins her, and has the passing thought that Mama was right, the waltz _is_ provocative.

“I am glad you think it beautiful,” Tenebrous says, and Faith blinks at them, thrown off. They gesture elegantly at their toothed-bird face, and she laughs, half-breathless from the dance, a pleasant warmth suffusing her skin from the exercise and from the sheer, dizzying joy of being noticed by someone she has noticed in return. 

“I do! I very much do,” she says, and it is even truer than she had thought it was before. With a great deal of daring, she reaches up to run her fingers along the side of the beak, and is surprised by the motion of the beak as Tenebrous chuckles at her, by the warm air as the beak parts. Her hands keep going, stroking along the mask’s cheek, and that is warm as well, and then continues to the feathers at their head and throat. Tenebrous tips their head to let her slip her fingers into the feathers there, and then her fingers stroke along the skin under the feathers and she does not understand, cannot find the seam of the mask, cannot feel how the feathers are attached. They move, ruffling, and she can feel Tenebrous’ rapid pulse in their throat. 

“What kind of mask is this?” she asks, feeling suddenly cold. Tenebrous turns their head to look at her with one dark, bottomless abyss of an eye, silent for a long moment. They suddenly seem like something not-right, like something _other_. Nervous as Faith might be however, they still do not seem sinister.

“Come out to the garden with me,” Tenebrous says. “And I’ll show you.”

That is an invitation that is treading very near to scandal, and they have stopped dancing now, Faith looking up and into the eye that she more and more believes is the one that Tenebrous was born with. Or at least, the one that belongs to them, that they have crafted from flesh and bone, that is not a mask at all. 

“You’re a daemon,” she whispers, and Tenebrous clacks their teeth once, twice, as though in confirmation. 

Here are the choices at hand. Faith can turn away now, can run back to find Grace and leave Tenebrous alone to work their daemon wiles on someone else. That is the wiser choice. She has been warned about daemons, and their seduction of mortal girls, and oh! the scandal if she is caught. And it is hard to think a daemon can be trusted. 

The other choice is that she takes the hand that Tenebrous has offered her, and goes out in the garden, and gets to converse with a daemon one on one. That she allows herself to be seduced. Heat creeps into her cheeks, as she contemplates it. She has little knowledge of carnal matters. Nor should she, as a young woman of good standing. But, oh, she is curious. There is a nameless sort of wanting that itches at her now and then, and she hardly knows what to do with it, only that it has _something_ to do with those selfsame carnal matters. 

And, to be fair, Tenebrous had not said explicitly that those were their intentions. And, well. Daemons are notoriously excellent lovers. 

“Well,” she says, faintly, and hears her own voice, high and a little trembly. “I hear the garden is lovely this time of year.”

She takes Tenebrous’ offered arm and is escorted off the dance floor. Together they slip out of the back door and into the garden, and her heart pounds rabbit-like all the while. She is holding onto Tenebrous’ arm so tight, and thinking so hard, that it takes her several steps into the garden before she realizes that this is not a place she recognizes, not the manor garden where she has walked before. 

This is a quite different garden, lush and dark, full of plants Faith doesn’t recognize at a glance, and built in twisting spirals. It’s lit by strange, golden lamps in wrought-iron lampposts, and Faith is being led, surely and easily, to the center of this maze-like garden. 

In this center is a wide, circular seat, or perhaps a bed. It is cushioned, certainly, and large enough to act as a bed, if that is not its intention. Tenebrous guides Faith to sit upon it, and then bows and removes their hat. The dark feathers adorning their head ruffle and fan out, the glossy iridescence scattering subtle blues across the feathers’ length. Now that she knows it is not a mask, the beak is notable for the terrible realism of its teeth, still as baffling and terrible. But it is beautiful, nonetheless. Tenebrous is beautiful.

“How far…” Faith gestures vaguely down at her body. “I mean. Are you feathered all over, sir?”

“How terribly forward, my lady,” Tenebrous says, beak clacking in their rattling bird’s laugh. Faith blushes a deep, hot blush, and looks away from them, flouncing her skirt. She should just leave, she never should have come out here. “Do you care to see?”

“Oh!” Faith says. “I. Ah.” She cannot bring herself to say either no or yes, trapped between her curiosity and the stirrings of her want, and the deep shame-bindings of propriety. Instead she says, meekly: “I would not be opposed,” and wants to die of shame anyway. 

Still, though, she cannot tear her eyes away when Tenebrous casually divests themself of their gloves, revealing hands that are more elegant talons than human hands, and begins to undo the buttons of their suit-jacket to reveal their waistcoat. The suit jacket dissolves as Tenebrous drops it, exploding into a flurry of dark particles with a sound like a muffled burst of air. Faith jolts and cranes her head to look, blinking. 

It is the most visible sign she has seen yet that Tenebrous is not merely an odd fool with a mask, but a daemon of great power in truth, and when she looks back up at them, wide-eyed, she sees them slowly unbuttoning their waistcoat, watching her with the hollow, vast darkness of their eyes. She cannot look away as the waistcoat slides off their body, even as it also disappears with the bursting sound, particles flying. She can see the dark pinpricks of feathers barely contained beneath the crisp white shirt, the odd shape of Tenebrous, and then their taloned hands are at their shirt buttons and Faith cannot breathe as the buttons part and their feathers come into view. They are shorter than the feathers on Tenebrous’ head, look softer, downier. Tenebrous seems to almost be unfolding as their shirt splits slowly down the buttoned seam, as though there is considerably more of them than can fit into a shirt sized for a mortal man, and when finally the buttons are all undone and they shrug the shirt off, it reveals a strange and glittering landscape of feathers. 

Half-pinioned wings taper into slim, bony forearms and dark talons. Long, bold feathers cross the chest, bulky with muscle at the chest and shoulders but tapering to a narrow waist, bulkier at the hips, more feathers tucked and hidden away by Tenebrous’ trousers. 

They are beautiful feathers, shimmering black and iridescent at the tips, and Tenebrous looks grand and dark and lovely shining in the lamplight, not a daemon at all. They are shaped enticingly, like something that Faith would like to touch and pet and rub her cheek into. 

“You did want to see if my feathers were all over,” Tenebrous says, but there is a faint note of inquiry in their voice, and Faith manages to tear her eyes away from the feathered muscle of their chest to glance down and see their talons poised at the button of their trousers.

She nods, jerky and breathless, and can’t help but hold her breath as Tenebrous undoes the button and shoves the trousers down over their thighs, feathers shaking free over their hips and cascading down from the small of their back, the curve of their hips ruffling as they step out of their trousers, and Faith catches just a glimpse of a grooved line at their groin before it is shrouded by feathers. She blinks in surprise, and sees that there is a pair of small wings wrapped around Tenebrous’ hips, rooted low on their back, the pinion feathers discreetly hiding whatever intriguing secret lies between their legs. 

They’ve stepped out of their boots with their trousers, the leather falling away like oil, and so she can see the whole of their legs, feathered to the knee and then dark bird’s legs below the knee, ending in wide, taloned feet like a crow’s. A fan of an oilslick tail trails on the ground behind them, tinted with surprising reds, and they are standing there, clad only in feathers, and they are not quite beautiful as a human would be, but strange and otherworldly, like a work of art. 

That is not to say that Faith does not find them very handsome on a more personal level. She cannot help but drag her eyes over them like some lecher leering at a pretty young lady in a club of ill repute. She is hungry for something she doesn’t quite understand, but for now, it would be enough to be able to stroke those soft, downy feathers. 

“Can I touch you?” she asks, hushed, and propriety is only a distant, irrelevant ship passing in the night.

In response, Tenebrous sweeps nearer, and sinks to their knees in front of her with a swirl of feathers like a lady settling her skirts, turning their odd, long beak up toward her. She touches their cheek, softly at first, but then more boldly, running her fingers through the silky feathers, and Tenebrous tips their head with a birdlike chirp, letting her stroke along their throat, the underside of their beak. She lifts their chin, inspecting their beak more closely, and then, with a great surge of courage, presses a soft little kiss to the top of it. 

Tenebrous coos and croons low in their throat, and rises up to nuzzle their cheek against hers, feathers warm and soft against her cheek, the naked bulk of them close and hot. It seems natural to wrap her arms around them, stroke along their back, feel the bunch of their muscles and the brush of their pinions against their arms as their talons cup her cheeks. And it seems natural to part her legs when they press closer, to make room for them and embrace them, however much it rucks up and creases her skirt. 

Faith turns her head, blindly, to nuzzle into the ruffle of feathers and press kisses to the beautiful, black-feathered line of Tenebrous’ throat, hears them make a sound low and humming, tip their head to allow her to do more of it. Emboldened, she does, kissing soft from the place where their beak joins their head down the curve of their neck and shoulder, to kiss the strange bird-bones that join at Tenebrous’s chest. 

“ _Good,_ ” says Tenebrous, in a way quite inhuman, that cracks and keels. In a moment, Faith finds herself lying back on the bed, pressed down by Tenebrous, as their toothed beak parts and spills out a tendril of liquid shadow. Their eyes are impossibly dark, and their taloned hand is splayed across her chest, pinning her effortlessly, but doing nothing to hinder the rapid rise and fall of her breathing. For a moment, she is afraid, but then Tenebrous dips down and she feels the brush of some velvety, hot softness against the sensitive skin under her ear. 

Faith makes an unladylike sound somewhere between a gasp and a whine at the feeling of it. It’s good, unexpectedly pleasant in a way that makes her feel buzzing and warm and almost dazed. It takes her a moment to parse out what is happening, fragmented by the repetition of the touch. Tenebrous is… _licking_ her with that strange liquid shadow-tongue. It feels wet, almost, but leaves no liquid behind, smooth and silky and warm. Just hot little laps across her neck, and she arches a bit as they move down the column of her throat, their beak nudging into her, tucked into the curve of her shoulder. 

If all of the things that one does carnally feel so nice, Faith cannot help but think, it is a wonder that there is a person on Earth with the fortitude to avoid such matters until marriage. Perhaps it is only accomplished by a woeful lack of education, because oh, even Tenebrous taking her ear softly in their beak, nibbling at the curve of it, feels hot and good and sends buzzing down her spine, makes her clutch blindly to them, disoriented by the pleasure of it. 

“You have seen the whole of me,” Tenebrous says, and Faith nods, turning to rub her cheek into their feathers. “May I see something more of you?”  
Their talons pluck at the fastenings on her bodice, and her first instinct is to push them away, cover herself, but she remains silent, holding tight to them and stroking one hand down their bare chest. She does not have any feathers to preserve her modesty. But that unnameable hunger is stronger than ever, and if they will only consent to set their tongue to her skin again, all illusions of modesty will vanish. 

“You may,” she says, and only then do they begin to undo her gown, pulling her up and into their lap so they can work at it. She buries her burning face in their shoulder, inhaling a warm, soft smell like sunlight on a down-filled blanket, something strange and maddeningly other, and lets them open her dress, slip off her gown. Faith knows, technically, that she is still nearly entirely covered by her undergarments, but she cannot help her blush, the sense that she has done something dreadfully improper. Perhaps it is merely the implication of her own nakedness finally catching up to her. 

Faith has to shift out of Tenebrous’ lap for a bit to pull off her corset and undo all of the other layers of nonsense under her dress, save only for her chemise, thin and white and covering hardly anything. She cannot bring herself to remove her chemise, however, hesitates with her hands bunched in the material until Tenebrous says, rather gently,

“That is enough for the moment, my dear.” 

Faith kneels back down on the big round bed - for it is a bed, it is difficult to doubt any longer - and doesn’t meet Tenebrous’ hollow stare. Her heart is beating very fast, and it feels like she is shaking, although when she raises her hands to look at them they’re perfectly steady.

“And now, sir? Do you have plans for me? You seemed rather eager,” she says, and tries to sound arch and teasing, but her voice is too high for that, oddly quiet. She balls her hands into fists in her lap, and then Tenebrous’ talons curl around her chin, tip her face up, and she is forced to look at them.

“Oh, many,” they say. “Oh, many indeed.” Their tone is sinful enough to bely the way that they lean forward to press their forehead into hers, with the softest touch imaginable, hold her there for a moment as she holds onto their wrists with a tight grip, until her heart slows down a bit. 

And then they pull back, and say, “Little one, let me look at you,” and their hands are powerful in their calm movement as she is spread out on the bed, and look at her they do indeed. Tenebrous tilts their head in birdlike motions, circles her where she’s splayed out for them, and she pulls her chemise down further to cover her better, self-conscious. 

Then they climb back onto the bed, their weight dipping the cushion, and Faith turns her head to watch them come over. The wings at their hips are spread now, balancing them, long and splendid tail draped across the bed, and there is nothing preventing Faith from seeing the place at the join of their legs which betrays hints of wetness, of some slick unfeathered skin. She squirms, pressing her own legs tighter together. 

“Let me touch you?” Tenebrous requests, and their talons alight at the place between Faith’s breasts, rest there, warm, too hard to be a soft-fleshed human hand, but gentle. It is distracting to have them so close to touching her so intimately, but _oh,_ she wants it, and so she says,

“Yes - yes _please_ , I. Anywhere you like.”

Tenebrous hums at her, and then casually strokes one lingering hand along the whole of her body, from her throat down over her breasts and then ending, searingly, at the join of her legs, over her sex. She squirms, unsure whether she wants to move away or towards their hand. There is still the finest layer of chemise-linen between Tenebrous’ hand and an aching wetness she has never felt the likes of before. Faith stops breathing for a moment. 

“Anywhere?” Tenebrous says, musingly, and their hand slips under the hem of her chemise. In response, she opens her legs, though they quake with the urge to close. The brush of their knuckles is unexpected, makes her jolt, but the touch remains. Firm, sure, delicate, and then a little firmer, slipping between her folds. Not inside her just yet, though she’s braced for that, tense, just sliding along her wetness in gliding movements. It feels odd, certainly, but nice, preoccupying. 

Faith has just about decided that she doesn’t mind sex at all, and it’s quite nice, really, when Tenebrous rubs up and across some sensitive spot with their knuckles and her hips jerk without her control, a gasp tearing its way free of her lips. It’s a spike of good, and she wants them to do it again immediately, isn’t sure how to ask. Thankfully, Tenebrous knows what they’re doing, and they do it again promptly, over and over, rubbing circles around that sensitive spot and then gliding over it, a rhythm Faith can shut her eyes and arch up into, wobbly and disbelieving because it feels so good. It’s so, so good. 

Faith makes a very indignant noise when they stop, squirms and reaches down to touch herself, but Tenebrous casually grabs her wrist and pins it to the bed. Her chest lurches with a sudden thrill of heat at how she is immobilized so easily. She cannot so much as attempt to move her hand - she is caught. Tenebrous’ beak bends down towards her, nudging up under her chemise, and she squeaks, instinctively trying to close her legs. Are they trying to look at her? She can see their head move under her chemise, and then their beak closes gently over her abdomen, teeth pricking at her skin. 

“What,” she begins, and then their odd, hot shadow-tongue flicks across that sensitive spot and she very rapidly decides not to ask any questions at all, lest they _stop._

Thankfully, they do _not_ stop, and the movement of their tongue is _very_ enlightening. She grabs blindly for Tenebrous' head, trying to squirm down for further contact, but is stopped by a sudden jolt of pain as the skin of her stomach and thighs catches on their teeth. She gasps, and Tenebrous moves quickly, pinning her hips down. 

“Careful,” they say, though their mouth doesn’t move. Faith searches her mind for an adequate response to that, and finds none. Instead an embarrassingly loud and undignified whine of desperate complaint rises from her throat, and Tenebrous laughs into her skin, soft and delighted. Their tongue moves again, and she clenches her fists at her sides to stop from squirming, instead just trembling in place. Distantly she can hear her breaths coming out in squeaks and moans. It is a very good thing this is Tenebrous’ garden, not the garden at the party manor - she has made enough racket to alert everyone within a hundred yards of what is going on. Her breath catches in a laugh. They would scarcely believe their eyes, if they saw her in congress with a daemon such as Tenebrous. 

And then she stops laughing and stops _thinking_ because Tenebrous’ slick-hot tongue has pressed _into_ her and she can’t do anything but try to squirm and fail, hips pinned immobile, whimpering in a way that is thoroughly undignified. Their tongue is long, thicker than it had been before - are they doing that? or does it just _feel_ thicker, pressing in as an intrusion rather than flicking along the surface of her skin? It fills her with silk and slick shadow, curling hotly against her insides, and she thinks she might die. She’ll definitely die if they stop. 

Tenebrous’ tongue keeps moving, pushing in and out of her, undulating and making little circles, and then pulls out entirely to lick firmly across that little sensitive bud. She can feel something building in her abdomen, some strange and blinding heat. They thrust their tongue back inside her and as it moves, the bed seems to drop out from under her as she goes over the precipice of that heated feeling, shuddering violently. 

Some small eternity later, she comes back to herself, still shuddering around the delicious stretch of Tenebrous’ tongue, sensitive and throbbing, and wheezes out a disbelieving giggle of delight.

“Oh that is, _hh,_ that is very nice, thank you, _ah,_ ” Faith says, hampered in her coherence by the fact that Tenebrous keeps teasing with their tongue.

“You are very welcome,” Tenebrous says, though their tongue is still thoroughly occupied, and they delicately withdraw, beak slipping out from under her chemise, leaving Faith empty and pulsing and warm. She lies back for a long moment, taking deep breaths, but then Tenebrous rises to their feet and she sits up straight, trying to shake off the pleasant daze. 

“Show me how to do that,” she demands, and Tenebrous’ glistening beak clacks with pleasure, feathers rippling. 

“Of course,” they say, and come slinking up the bed, crawling like a predator, making Faith’s heart quicken deliciously. They are so vast and dark and soft, swallowing up the light, and when they part their thighs and the wings at their hips sweep apart to reveal what lies beneath, Faith has trouble making it out, a bit. But there is wetness, there, and it resembles her own, she thinks. It is remarkably nerve-wracking, thinking about touching the genitalia of someone other than herself, but she must admit, she is relieved that these particular genitals are not of the external variety. From the hazy image she has gotten from aunts and older sisters and cousins, a penis seems intimidating. 

Tenebrous shifts to recline back on their wings, offering themself up for her perusal, and their beak is turned to the side to fix her with a dark eye that seems more amused than anything else. Privately, Faith resolves that she’ll have _some_ effect on them, if she can only work out how. 

She begins by tentatively touching the slick surface of their opening, and Tenebrous rumbles encouragingly at her. Emboldened, she rubs a finger across it, trying to see any expression on their inhuman face, and Tenebrous hums, reaches down to encircle her wrist in talons, guiding her fingertips up a bit to a strangely textured bit of flesh. When her fingers brush against that, Tenebrous’ hum drops low, content, so she repeats it, trying to remember what Tenebrous had done to her with their hands that had felt so good. Circles, rubbing around, and - lightly, at first, she thinks, so she does that. 

“ _Good,_ ” Tenebrous says, warm and approving, and Faith flushes to the roots of her hair, trying to stay focused as she keeps up with the circles. Emboldened by her success, she experiments, moving her fingers in different configurations, exploring. Some things make Tenebrous hum encouragingly, and she finds herself mapping out an image of pleasure by degrees, gradually growing more confident. The little strange spot is changing under her hands, swelling and growing, slipping slickly between her fingers, and she plays with it, running her fingers along it. 

Tenebrous cards talons through Faith’s hair, beak clacking in amusement, and she realizes with a start she can feel her whole face scrunched into ferocious concentration. She tries to smooth it out, but Tenebrous just leans forward to cup her chin. “Try your fingers inside me,” they say, half a purr, and she looks, surprised, down at the opening she had almost forgotten was there. 

“Oh - yes,” she says, and rubs her fingertip along the dark slick of them until she finds the place where the warm flesh gives way. Tentatively, she presses, and is surprised at how easily her finger slips inside, surrounded on all sides by warmth. It has the same silky, almost insubstantial texture of their tongue, but with more pressure, warm and wet. Frictionless, and she finds she can put a second finger in without resistance. She moves her fingers, feeling Tenebrous stretch around them, and then looks wonderingly up at their face.

Tenebrous makes a low, rough sound almost like a groan as Faith moves her fingers inside them, and their head lolls back, so she does it again, immediately, trying to replicate the exact motion. It’s fun, a good challenge, and she focuses on doing it well, watching Tenebrous’ feathers puff and the wings at their hips twist into the bed. It occurs to her that it might be a good idea to try rubbing the nub on the outside at the same time as she has her fingers inside, and she tries it, doing her best to coordinate her hands. 

“ _Mm_ , yes,” Tenebrous says. “ _Very_ good.”

A surge of pride and excitement makes Faith’s hands quicken, and she watches in wide-eyed fascination as Tenebrous grows slicker, feathers clamping down and frilling up, the little spots of light in their eyes brightening as their beak clacks. The glimpse of their dark tongue inside their beak reminds Faith of something she wanted to try, and though her little pink tongue seems wildly unsuited for the task, she leans forward to try licking at the little nub. It tastes… strange. Sort of like skin, and sort of like nothing, and faintly sweet.

“Oh, you _are_ a quick learner,” Tenebrous says, and talons card through Faith’s hair again, closing in a knot at the base of her skull. It feels like a command, like the best sort of approval, and she licks again and again, quickly abandoning all attempts at delicacy to bury her face between Tenebrous’ thighs, trying to replicate with her tongue the things that had been successful with her fingers, all the while moving her fingers inside them.

The noises Tenebrous makes are _lovely_ noises, low and encouraging, and their hands urge her on. Her wrist is getting a bit sore, and her tongue, but Faith perseveres until she feels Tenebrous stiffen under her, muscles coiling and bunching strangely under their feathers, and the slick passage her fingers are in clamps down like a vise, squeezing hard in convulsing pulses, and Faith recognizes the feeling from her own convulsions of pleasure earlier. Faith keeps working at it until Tenebrous gently pushes her head away, and she pulls her fingers out of Tenebrous, scrubbing the back of her hand across her slick mouth. 

Delighted, she asks, “Is _that_ what that feels like from this side of things?” 

“ _Mm,_ ” Tenebrous says, languidly. “Indeed. _Very_ well done, little one.”

Pride flushes Faith’s cheeks, and she crawls up to kiss Tenebrous’ beak, which seems the proper thing to do. They nudge her mouth with their beak in return, though they seem amused again, and she rests her head on Tenebrous’ warm, downy chest, sated and giddy and pleased with herself and also somewhat sticky. There is a contented, brief silence before Faith shoots up and begins to industriously clean herself off and get dressed. Tenebrous curls around her, not hampering, but not particularly helping either. 

“Good God, how long have I been away from the party?” she asks, very belatedly. “My sister is likely looking for me.”

“You have been gone from the party for mere minutes,” Tenebrous says, lazily. “This is my place. Time passes differently, here.”

“How very convenient,” Faith says, vainly attempting to fix her hair. Tenebrous touches their knuckles to the back of her neck, and she feels her hair wind itself back up into its up-do, securely and beautifully pinned. “Thank you.”

It is odd, returning to the party still sensitive and shaky and a little sore, a whole new knowledge and a terrible scandal committed between one song and the next. It is odder, having to dance and socialize as though none of it happened, though she feels like it must be so obvious on her face and in her movements.

But she goes home, at the end of the night, and slips back into her bedroom. It feels strange, in the following days, to just slip back into her life like she is still the same person, makes her half-wonder if the whole interlude was some vivid dream. And then she wakes one night to the whisper of her name, and finds a beaked silhouette in the window.

“Oh,” she says, and then, grinning so hard her face hurts. “Welcome.”


End file.
